Then the rain came..

This morning dawned cold and damp so I made a quick decision to get to Wellington before the mad NY rush. A nice coffee with Tom and Brent in the sunroom, and I was off for the return journey. Am not rushed so am writing this at Masterton, and just ordered a coffee with bacon and eggs to sustain me till I have tea night. The coffee is awful, but then, at least it is hot.

I have had a wonderful two sunny days of RnR at Norsewood and certainly love that hamlet, especially with the sane presence of Tom to talk with and to learn from. He is a fount of information about all things Kiwi, and indeed I am grateful to him. His gigantic family, he has 103 first cousins at last count, are a source of both amusement and frustration for him, as he is essentially a private person and they are a very gregarious family it seems. But he copes with it, and his father, the patriarch who recently died at age 103, was certainly a real character and had a supreme influence on Tom's life, for the good of course. He has a totally different background to Brent's, whose family is dysfunctional in a very Kiwi way, and he keeps them at a good distance too.

Tom with coffee...

And me, warm in my polar fleece...in front of Tom's majestic vintage William Morris curtains from London.

Bacon and eggs at Masterton a very country meal, but edible, and no indigestion at present.

The drive on Kiwi roads is very pleasant and the people are so polite, especially the truck drivers letting me pass any time I needed to. The rolling hills and views are spectacular and it is really a beautiful region, the Wairarapa.  

This country is without a doubt a precious relic of former times, when life was still safe and slower, where people respected each other and wanted the best from the land. It is certainly a major reason for my loving the place, and the countryside is an absolute dream.

Richie got a gong but not a title

Home for a short rest before I caught my last movie for the year at the Paramount. It was a beautifully shot Chinese poem from the Seventh Century called 'Assassin', which was quite enjoyable albeit the story difficult to fathom sometimes. Am skipping the fireworks on the bay but will doubtless hear them.

I am now in bed at ten for a good sleep to bring in a healthy New Year! 

The Frenchman has just returned - he reeks of alcohol and hopes to sell his car in Auckland before he flies back to France on the twenty first. He is really a typical young man looking to find where he fits in the world, I am not sure if it will be in New Zealand...

Fond goodbye to the workers at Norsewood.